


His Ice and His Fire

by RiverRunningFree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abused Dean Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Captured, Captured Castiel, Captured Dean Winchester, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fever, Fever Dreams, Great Escape, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Hell, Hell Trauma, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Inmate Dean Winchester, John Winchester A+ parenting, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Kidnapped, Kidnapped Castiel (Supernatural), Kidnapped Dean Winchester, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, OC, OFC - Freeform, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Prisoner Castiel, Prisoner Dean, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Sort Of, They got each other’s backs, Torture, Tortured Castiel, Tortured Dean Winchester, Wingfic, cellmates, inmate castiel, not graphic torture, wing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverRunningFree/pseuds/RiverRunningFree
Summary: An exiled demon and a rebellious angel, trapped together in a prison cell.Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke…When Dean and Cas get caught up in the throws of a war between Heaven and Hell, it seems like hope is a fleeting thing. But maybe...just maybe, they'll be able to make it out of all this alive. Maybe.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 53
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

Swish. CRACK!

Pain. Groan.

Close eyes,

breathe again.

Swish. CRACK!

It was like a sickening melody, swaying along to the rhythm of a knotted whip.

Pain. Groan.

Fog and thunder, warring against each other to befuddle his mind.

Close eyes.

The hot drips of fresh blood cooling against the scarred skin of his back.

Breathe again…

“Alright. Put him back in his cell.”

Dean let his eyelids flitter back open as relief eased his tense muscles, relaxing himself into the iron chains latched above his head. These new trainees must be low on the stamina side; the torture session was only for a few hours today. And not even some questioning. How lame.

The demon with the whip, Tanner, or maybe Terrence? Changed out Dean’s chains for handcuffs, demon binding ones of course, and manhandled him out the door, the other three guards striding behind them. Dean’s legs buckled in unwillingness and exhaustion; his left calf still ripped down the center from the “incident” yesterday. He stumbled, but was yanked back to his feet, Whip Demon cursing under his breath in annoyance.

Dean glanced subtly over to his guards’ faces, blinking away his own dizzied vision and taking in the impassive frustration that contorted their faces. Maybe this just wasn’t their thing. Maybe these newbies just didn’t appreciate the “art” of torturing like their master does. A shiver ran down his spine, threatening to buckle his legs again, but he quickly caught his step. Alastair. That bastard would cut you open and smile, like a connoisseur sipping two-hundred-year-old wine on a hot day. Sadist.

A few minutes later and Dean was being thrown head-long through his cell door, the demons snickering behind him. He tripped over his feet and fell smack into the back wall, slumping to a heap on the ground.

Oh well, at least he fell into a fairly comfortable position.

Dean rolled carefully over onto his stomach, shoulder muscles spiking with strain and tenderness, as he carefully lifted his tattered back away from the wall. There was bloody streaks left in its wake, the newly ripped skin leaving its mark.

A groan was building low in his throat, but his mind was already drifting as unconsciousness began reaching its soft tendrils out to him.

He should be concerned. He should.

By the whippings. By the torturing and the interrogations. By the fact that he was in a high-security demon prison. Or at the very least by the thought that he would probably never even see the sun again before he died.

But then again, he had given up caring a long time ago.

So no, he was not concerned by any of it.

He’d been numb for a very long time.

“Hello.”

Dean’s head jerked up, eyes wide and searching.

“Those guards do not seem to like you very much.”

Dean blinked his eyes into focus, landing on a shadowed figure in his cell. On the other side of his cell, back against the wall and head tilted in concern, was a Seraph. A blued-eyed, black-winged, “Angel of the Lord”, with bruises on his cheeks but white fire dancing beneath his skin.

“-Uhhh.”

“You appear to be injured.” The Seraphim spoke. His voice reaching Dean’s ears like a rolling thunder over far off mountains. Powerful, but softened.

“No duh, Sherlock.”

The angel blinked at him startled and Dean kicked himself for his lack of tact. But come on, where did this Bozo think he was anyways? Not the Hampton Inn & Suites, that’s for dang sure.

The green-eyed demon flicked his sharp tail and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m injured. Excellent diagnoses Doctor Sexy. Though I should probably give you a heads up that literally everyone who calls one of these petri dished cells home is ‘injured’. Its part of the rent payment for this joint.”

The angel opened his mouth for a moment before snapping it shut with a click. Then his brow scrunch in confusion. “I am not a physician. And I do not go by the surname, ‘Sexy’. I believe you have my identity mistaken. I am an angel, Seraphim class, and a captain of my battalion. My name is Castiel.”

Dean groaned and laid his head back on the concrete floor, appreciating the coolness against his cheek, especially with his back still feeling heated and burning. “Congratulations,” he mumbled into the ground.

Castiel didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, cocking his head to the side and frowning. After a few seconds he shifted to standing and walked over to Dean’s curled-inward form. His eyes traveled the length of Dean’s body, slowly, meticulously. Honestly, Dean found it a little creepy to be honest. The dude was crowding his personal space and he felt…exposed.

“Back it up Cas, I ain’t in the mood to perform right now. Especially since you haven’t bought me dinner yet.”

Cas blinked. “You are shivering.” He crouched down near Dean’s head and place a calloused hand against his forehead, eyes squinting in concentration. “You have a fever. But your wounds are fresh, how can they already be infected?”

The other man huffed and slapped the angel’s hand away. “Cause they’re not all fresh, genius. Now buzz off, I want to sleep.”

“I am not a bee, demon. I cannot bu-“

“Sleep. Cas. Quiet. Please.”

His calf felt like it was burning from the inside and his back was raw and had strips of skin coming off in peels. There was dried blood everywhere, he had injuries all over his body, and the last thing he wanted was some Seraph to be playing triage on him right now. Besides, he thought, with how muffled his head was feeling right now, he probably did have a fever and he really just wanted to sleep it off.

Out of sight out of mind. If he didn’t think about how much of a mess he was, then he wouldn’t feel it. At least, that had always been his motto. Not that it worked very often, but he gave it his best shot.

Freaking angel. He just wanted to be left alone.

But no. The demons had to give him a cellmate. Oh joy.

Whatever. Sleep now. Cellmate later.

Cas watched as Dean’s bloodshot eyes slipped closed, his body still shivering slightly as it relaxed into unconsciousness. Cas frowned down at him. “You appear to be a very stubborn demon.”

When he received no reply except the stuttering breaths of the man beneath him, Cas settled himself into a seated position, back straight against the wall nearby. And he watched.

His cellmate was a demon. That had certainly not been what he’d expected when he had been tossed in here an hour ago and told that his “roommate” would join him shortly. This was a prison meant for Abbadon’s most dangerous prisoners.

It made sense that Cas had been taken here after capture. He was a Captain in Heaven’s army, and held valuable information that would benefit Abbadon greatly, provided she could pry it out of him. In addition, he was known as one of the most competent strategists in Heaven’s group of officers. But-

He glanced back over to the slightly malnourished figure laying quiet beside him.

But this was prison run by demons…. So why was a demon being held prisoner inside?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you like it! Obviously, more chapters are to come, but I’m excited to get into this one!
> 
> Let me know what you thought below. I thrive on comments ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Night is the time when all the darkest of thoughts and most insane of ideas come to form. It is when the most twisted parts of your mind come out to play, batting a ball about with The Twins: Anxiety and Depression. Night is when you stare into the abyss and just hang there, gaze numb and blank.

And most of all, Night is when every mistake you have ever made, every false step and life stumble is shown bright and vivid with 4K quality and surround sound inside your head. ‘I should have done this…’ or ‘I should have done that…’, at Night the mind is a record player with far too many scratches on it to make music.

Sitting in silence, back still ramrod straight against the wall, Castiel had no idea whether or not it was day or night. There were no windows, and the cells were left in constant shadows of suffocating darkness. But regardless of what time of day it actually was, every moment felt like an eternity of nights strung together in one long cord, knotted and frayed.

Cas rubbed a hand down his face as he tried to block out the memories that were silently screaming like banshees in his ears. Bloodied bodies. Broken faces. So so many mistakes.

Because of him.

Because he rebelled.

There were angels, his brothers and sisters, lying in abandoned trenches right now because he couldn’t simply obey. Because he was selfish, and stubborn. And he chose to rebel in the worst possible moment. And now... he had to deal with the consequences of his actions.

He leaned his head against the wall, eyes tilted up to Heaven. Up to Home. The echoes of their shouts and screams bouncing off the walls inside his brain. His fault. It was his fault. His plan. He ruined everything-

_No._

Castiel screwed his eyes shut.

_It’s not my fault. I did nothing wrong. I did the right thing._

_I did. I-_

A low whimper pulled Cas out of his thoughts, eyes opening with a sigh. The Demon. He glanced over at the restless body beside him, the unnerved tossing and shivering movements it was unconsciously performing.

Castiel was not the only one who was being plague by a dark past right now.

Cautiously, the angel moved out of reach of the demon, who had begun instinctively shifting towards the angel’s warmth in his sleep. Castiel did not want the demon to feel cornered when he awoke, which would seem to be soon, if his restlessness was anything to go by.

While Castiel had been wallowing in silence for the past few hours, his cellmate had been expressing his own pain quite vocally in his stead. The Seraph still knew almost nothing about the nearby creature, not even his name. But after hearing his nightmare cries, Cas knew the demon had been through just as much horror as he himself had. Maybe even more. He couldn't helped but be intrigued by his cellmate. Even with only the short interaction they had had, Castiel could already tell that the demon was a complex and intricate being. Definitely worth further understanding.

A few minutes later, Castiel was startled out of his ponderings by the heavy crash of the hall door outside their cell banging open.

Dean jumped awake, jerking himself instantly to an upright position, wincing at the pain that resulted from the motion. He glanced over at Castiel, who was still marveling at how quickly the demon could go from sleep to full alert in a matter of seconds.

“Morning Feathers.” Dean rasped out; a nervous smile quirked his lips. Both of them swung their gaze over to their cell door at the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hall towards them. That wasn't good. Being left alone was the only good situation in a place like this. Nothing pleasant ever came from a visit with the guards.

“What do you believe they want?”

Dean arched an eyebrow at his celestial cellmate. “How would I know? Been snoozing away my cares and worries for hours, don’t think they sent me a memo by dream pigeon, bud.”

“My apologies. I didn’t know if perhaps since you are also a d-” Cas stumbled over his words at the sight of Dean’s hardening glare, “…I just thought you might have some insight into how demon prisons are run. You said yourself you have been here a while.”

Nothing but a hum in reply.

There were loud hollow clashes of metal slabs banging against walls farther down the hall, more footsteps, then more door slams.

They were going into every cell.

Dean cocked his head in thought, ignoring the pounding in his ribs. Beside him Cas looked like he was ready to pounce into a fist fight, his feathers puffed out, ready for attack. They felt a sense of dread fill like lead into their stomachs as the guards got closer and closer to their cell. The unknown caused the worst type of fear in a place like this.

Dean’s brows furrowed in concentration. He was forgetting something. Something important. He knew what was going on, but his fever was still making brain power practically impossible. What was it? What was today? Wh-

“I’m an idiot.”

Cas whipped around to look at Dean, the skinny demon was snorting to himself and shaking his head in amusement. The angel wasn’t totally unsure that the man was not currently losing his mind.

“Dude,” green eyes laughed almost deliriously, “it’s just a cell search day. I’m such an idiot.” Dean chuckled under his breath, head lolling forward to his chest in exhaustion.

“Cell…search day?”

“Mhmm.” Dean coughed dryly for a moment before continuing, “A couple times a month they do these random searches where they pull all the prisoners out into the main cell block, give them a _thorough_ pat down, and then send a bunch of guards through each cell while the prisoners are out to check that there aren’t items being hidden or escape routes being made. Stuff like that.” Dean coughed again then threw Cas a lopsided grin, “Pretty standard procedure. Can’t believe I forgot.”

Cas squinted at Dean for a moment in concern then was about to open his mouth to comment when the guards reached their door, interrupting his reply. Their door was unlocked and thrown open, an abrasive guard stepping through the doorway.

“Out. Now.”

Dean snorted and pushed himself off of the wall, walking almost aimlessly out the door. “Don’t strain yourself there Einstein, big words require big brain power, ya know?” The guard struck him across the side of his face, sending the sandy-haired man reeling into the hall.

Cas felt himself growling in response to the transgression, but still allowed two of the other guards to lead him out of the cell. “Are you alright demon?”

Dean spat out a string of blood and rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to stand up straight. “Peachy Feathers. Just peachy.”

The angel squinted, “What does a fruit have to do wit-“

“Quit the jabbering! Move it!”

Castiel felt a sharp kick behind his knees and he stumbled forward joining into the line of prisoners that were now shuffling out the hallway door, guards flanking them on either side. Cas swallowed thickly as he regained his footing, trying not to breathe in the ripe scent of the unwashed bodies in front of him.

“Too bad it’s not bath day.” Dean muttered, slipping in beside Cas, being careful not to crowd his space or brush up against his wings. “These lovelies smell like junipers that have been dipped in castor oil and some very ripe blue cheese.” His nose wrinkled into a scrunch before choking on another cough and wincing at the pull in his ribs.

Cas gave him a sidelong look, “Are you alright?”

“Stop asking that.” The demon curled his tail between his legs and rubbed absently at a pain in his chest, “No one is alright here Cas, this ain’t a high-class spa resort. It’s a prison with its own in-house torture fanatics.” He nodded toward the line of shuffling figures swaying in front of them, “Give it a few days, you’ll be right along there with the rest of us.”

Cas tucked his wings in protectively but remained silent.

By the time they reach the innermost cell block, Castiel was ready to vomit. It wasn’t just the smell from all the unwashed bodies that surrounded him, but the way that they were all abused and beaten, with guards laughing at them and shocking them or beating them just for fun. The whole situation was vile.

There were thousands of prisoners crammed together in the massive center room. They bustled against each other, moaning and groaning like some choir from Hades. They had bruises and scars and just general all-around filth. Their clothes were ripped and torn, and overall everyone seemed quite miserable.

There was every species from werewolves to ghouls to fae to…angels. Which made Castiel’s heart twist at the sight of his kin, even though he didn’t know them personally and couldn’t get close enough to speak with them.

The only kind that was missing was…demons.

“Why are there no other demon prisoners?”

Dean cringed at the bluntness of the question. He had currently been trying to get a swig out of one of the nearby whiskey bottles being discreetly passed around through the hoards, but the vampire currently holding it was being a greedy bitch.

“If a demon is stupid enough to become a problem, they’re executed. Straight and simple. Not thrown into a prison.”

Dean could feel the full force of those ethereal blue eyes focus in on him, “So why were you?”

Dean scuffed his boots and rubbed at his heart absently again, muttering quietly, “None of your business, Feathers.” He flicked his tail in the direction of the guards lined up for searching prisoners. “We should probably get this over with.”

“Wait.” Cas grabbed his forearm, rewarding the angel with a reflexive hiss and flinch, “I just. I don’t know you, demon. You are a complex mystery, and I think since we will be rooming together for probably quite some time, we should be more open towards each other. I would be very appreciative to have you as an ally, demon.”

Dean yanked his arm away and hissed once more for good measure, “This is neither the time, nor the place for some chick-flick moment, okay?” He jerked his head towards the guards, “Now come on. I want this part over with.”

The angel sighed and nodded, properly chastised, following the demon towards the searching stations. He was stupid for trying to pry into this creature’s business. They barely even knew each other.

“I do have a name too, by the way.”

Cas glanced up. Eyes wide with surprise.

The demon quirked an easy grin over his shoulder just before he stepped up to be searched.

“I’m Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta daaaaa. That's chapter two! I promise blood and gore and adventure and plot in future chapters. This one was for setting up the Cas/Dean dynamic for this fic.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments below! I love hearing from you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight is a gorgeous thing.

It lands on your skin within a bright warmth that seeps into you and heats along your bones. It burns gently unto your face as you tilt your chin skyward, causing a soft red blush to spread pleasantly along your cheeks.

Sunlight peaking through a cluster of storm clouds is the most surrealist form of nature. To have two conflicting forces, darkness and light, vying for your gaze. It is spectacular.

Although, nothing could bring more happiness than that first moment you see the sun after days of rain. That moment the clouds lift, the rain dissipates, and all around you are vivid blue skies with sunlight covering every blade of grass and every leaf on the trees.

That is what makes sunlight gorgeous.

At least, that was Dean’s opinion.

He had been holding on to that image in his head ever since they threw him into this pitch-black 10' x 10' cell all those years ago.

It would have been easy to forget. Those rolling green hills and brightly lit sky, the view from Pastor Jim’s house when they would go there to visit when he was a child. A beautiful place, stretched on for miles and miles, filling the horizon in the distance with green and crystal blue.

But now his horizon reached about four steps in either direction. Halted by a cement wall on three sides and a steel door on the fourth. A cage. A pit.

Death and darkness never felt so empty.

And just knowing this will be the only view that would greet him from now until the end of his days … that was enough to make a grown demon lay down and die right there.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Dean.”

Green eyes rimmed with black and purple bruising jerked up at Cas’s call.

“Hm?”

“Where do you go? When you zone out like that. Where do you go?”

Dean stood stiffly from his perched crouch on the floor, unfolding his legs with a grimace, this morning’s torture session flaring up across his ribs. “Far away from here.”

A beat.

“Where?”

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest stiffly, “You really are a nosy son of a bitch, you know that, Feathers?”

An affronted sniff comes from the angel across from him, “I am merely procuring a suitable topic for conversation.” Dean tries to snort at that, but his breath catches, and all appearance of dominance is lost in a bent-over, rib shattering, bout of hacking. The acid that Alistair kept pouring down his throat wasn't doing his any favors these days. The twisted son of a bitch.

“Tell me about where you go.”

Dean choked on one last cough, glaring at the persistent bastard. “I see earth.”

Cas tilts his head in thought. “Earth?”

“Yeah.” A hand rubs unconsciously against his sternum. Damn lungs. “My little brother and I would visit an old friend of my mother’s during the summer when we were growing up. A kind dude. Just a regular old pastor out in the middle of nowhere.” Cas’s head pops up at that. “He had this view out his back porch, rolling hills and blue skies… that’s where I go. Sunlight streaming on my face and my brother’s laughter on the wind.”

“Why was a demon and his brother visiting a pastor?”

Dean groaned and put his head in his hands. “Out of all that-“ another cough, “ _that_ is what you got out of it?” The angel shrugged and Dean shook his head at the angel. The man didn't seem to catch some of the finer things sometimes. He always seemed so concerned about "angels" and "demons" and what is appropriate for whom. Rules and regulations. Like life was a rule book that must either be followed or broken. Dean hesitated in his thought process. Maybe it was just because Cas was a Captain. Maybe he had never had a choice to think anything _except_ in terms of rules.

“The idea of mentally transporting oneself to a beautiful location is not an odd form of copping with dire circumstances.”

“Dire cir-“

“ _But_ , the idea of a demon, first of all retaining fond family connections, and secondly being friends with a religious figure… That is much less common.”

The accusation grated on Dean’s mind. The idea was indeed absurd for a demon. Their kind avoided religious figures of any religion like the plague. Too much faith. Too much kindness. They were only useful once they were corrupted. Of course, it was odd. A demon visiting a pastor. But then again… he hadn’t actually been a … _demon_ … at the time. He shook his head. Let's not go there right now.

Dean swallowed thickly and averted his gaze. “How about we talk about you instead? Huh? Got any skeletons doing the mambo in your trench coat closet?” He wiped his hands on his tattered pants, smearing dirt into the deep creases and tears.

“If by that strange and contorted reference, you are asking if I have any scandalous and dramatic events in my past, then yes. I do.”

“And?”

Cas huffed out an annoyed breath but decided that in order for this to be a healthy give-and-take relationship, he’d actually have to give a little himself. “The reason why I was captured and brought here was because I was leading a group of soldiers on a routine supply mission when I… rebelled. Against Heaven.” The admission seemed cause him physical pain, the way his face screwed up in twist of agony at the memory.

“You…rebelled? You fell?”

“NO. I-I did not _fall_. I simply…”

“Rebelled.”

“Yes.”

Dean smoothed his face from the shock and licked his dry and cracked lips, “Why?”

The angel sighed and seemed to let his whole presence simply deflate right in front of the demon. “Because Heaven is not as pure as I thought it to be. So, I gathered a group of my closest supporters, took the supply mission as a cover and then, we just- we just ran.” Cas’s eyes filled at the memories flooding his mind, “We didn’t even make it a week before we were ambushed by demons. They killed everyone else. Brought me here. I don’t even think that Heaven knows we rebelled, it happened so quickly…”

Dean studied the angel, “That’s why you never discuss escaping from here. You’re paying penance.”

A small, silent nod.

“Interesting.”

A week passed after that conversation, 10 days since Cas’ arrival. They actually began to get into a sort of rhythm. Dean would wake up grouchy and bruised, Cas would offer his healing services, then Alistair would pull Dean out for half the day, leaving Castiel behind to stew in his worry. Then Dean would return, bloody, shaky, and not speaking of what had just happened. So Castiel would talk. About his life before the war, his brothers and friends, and tell stories of his misadventures to distract Dean. Eventually Dean would join in, never opening up about his past, but keeping a strong conversation going all the same.

Then it all went side-ways. It started out with a normal day. Boring. Painful. Well, at least for Dean. The demons seemed to be hesitant to lay a beating on Cas. A fact for which the angel almost resented.

But some time one evening, they heard footsteps again. Headed straight for their cell. No stops. No detours. The angel and the demon exchanged a look and then scrambled to their feet, just before their cell door swung up with a crash.

“Both of you. Out. Now.”

Cas looped an arm under Dean’s shoulder to steady him. His frame was already shaking from the standing position. They silently hobbled out the door, deciding now was not a good time to pick a fight with the guard. Dean leaned into Cas’ grip and breathed carefully through his nose. What the hell did they want now?

They were led down a series of corridors, twisting, turning, going through areas that Dean had never passed through before. Which, even though he’d been there a while, that really didn’t amount to much. The halls were getting wider, cleaner. They were heading off into a small side-wing of the prison, from what Dean could tell.

Cas’s hold did not loosen for single moment, every step assisted. Dean was grateful for that, he really was. He and the angel had begun to, dare he say it, _bond_ over the last week. Slowly gaining each other’s trust. But Dean had started getting roughed up more so than usual lately. Longer hours in his “sessions”. More brutality from the guards. He guessed it was from word getting around that he was befriending the angel. Even more of a reason for the demons to hate him.

People knew they could hurt Cas without actually touching the angel by merely giving Dean some quick rounds with a pair of brass knuckles. The angel had a soft spot for him. He cared. And Dean didn’t quite know what to do with that information.

But yeah. Dean was definitely appreciative of Cas’s help right now.

He felt Cas pull him back to a halt as apparently they had come to a stop. Huh. Brain must be a little slow on the upkeep today. He swung his head over to look at Cas, raising an eyebrow to see if the angel had any idea what was going on.

Cas just shook his head negatively and looked around to survey the room. It was a large, high-ceilinged room. A long desk and winged-back throne positioned on the far end. Seated at the throne was Crowley. The head over the whole prison.

This couldn’t be good.

“Hello boys.”

“Crowley.”

“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Captain Castiel. Your reputation precedes you.” Crowley’s eyes flick red as he glances over at Dean, a smirk curling on his lips. “Squirrel. You’re _always_ a pleasure.”

Castiel sneered and pulled Dean protectively closer to himself, noticing Dean’s lack of response. “What’s going on here, demon? Tell us why you pulled us from our cells tonight.”

Crowley stood up with a chuckle, starting a steady pace towards them. “You know, Wings, I really don’t think you fully understand your situation here. _You-_ “ Crowley stepped up into Castiel space, hand rough grabbing his jaw, staring him down, “-are not the one in charge here. Understand? You don’t get to make demands for answers. I’m the one in charge here… DO YOU BLOODY UNDERSTAND?!?”

Cas forced himself not to jump back at the outburst, gritting his teeth in defiance. This puny crossroads demon was not going to intimidate him one bit. He let his eyes flash blue in an act of aggression, Crowley’s glowing red again in return.

“Guys-“ Dean’s voice rasped against their ears, pulling them both back from a supernatural “red-zone” moment. “Put away your twigs and zip up your pants.” Cas broke eye contact with Crowley to look down at his companion whose body was starting to shiver violently even though he was trying to hide it. “Can we just get this over with? Please?”

Crowley looked over at Dean appraisingly for a moment before taking a step back out of their space. “Alistair really messed you up this morning, didn’t he now?” Dean didn’t respond and Cas frowned at the damning silence.

“Fine. Abbadon has sent word today. She wants you both sent to the Capitol.”

“Why.”

Crowley walked over to a liquor cabinet set against the nearby wall. “Well she didn’t bloody tell me, now did she?” He poured himself a drink slowly, giving the two prisoners a moment to stew in their rising fear. Especially Dean. “Though I’m sure that for you, Wings, it involves some sort of questioning. And you Squirrel… well…” The malnourished demon leaned away from Cas slightly, flashing his green eyes black in fear.

“…let’s just say that Daddy’s been asking after you. You are his own favorite little Knight of Hell, after all.”

Cas swung his gaze, eyes wide, to the figure in his arms. What the hell had he gotten himself into…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in the books. Huzzah! If you can't tell I kinda have a pension for hurt Dean... just a bit. So sorry about that.  
> But! I actually have a planned out storyline for fic, which in itself is a miracle, so yay for that!
> 
> Please let me know what your thoughts are in the comments below, I love hearing from you guys!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag for Warnings: Torture (Just a short scene)

A lot of people view Hell as a large pit. Just rows and rows of people hanging on racks; screaming, crying, begging for relief and repenting of their sins. And fire. Lots of fire. Fire and brimstone and everything you could fear.

Well. As an expert in all things Hell, Dean would be the first to tell you, that picture is about far off as a drunk man’s pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey attempt.

In reality, Hell was actually more aligned with the Ancient Greek mythology idea of the “Underworld”. It was vast, with six large prisons located on the outer ring of this deserted plain. The land was covered in black rocks and rumble, with red and black thunder cracking deafeningly overhead. Charred mountains and active volcanoes crowded the open terrain. There weren’t towns, per se, that would indicate life. Instead, there were enormous, stone barracks housing thousands of demons and loosely surrounding the center of Hell.

Beneath all of this was a second layer of Hell. A sort of infinite basement, if you would. Down there is where they kept the souls. Now that, that is where the fire and the racks and the pain can be found. A flaming pit to hold billions of souls. Keeping them in constant terror from the torturers paying them visits.

It’s a dark place, Hell is.

And at the darkest part is The Capital. Located at the very center of Hell, the Capitol was miles of iron and stone, twisted into fortified skyscrapers and fortresses. The air was so thick with polluted black smoke that you could barely breathe, barely see two feet in front of your face.

The place was crawling with higher-up demons, yes; they held their tactical meetings and their grand parties. But there were also the weaker demons. The half-blood rejects. They lived homeless on the streets and crowded into side alleys. The streets were dangerous, and the high-ups were deadly.

And that is where they were headed.

Dean scuffed his boots on the ashen rocks as he walked.

Kick. Scuff.

Trip. Straighten. 

Kick. Scuff.

Breathe. Pain.

He coughed wetly and blinked his eyes into focus. The soot-filled air really wasn’t helping with his all-around crappy state. An irritated adjustment tug at his environmental mask and then a sniff for good measure. He rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin.

He really needed to get these injuries under control. Alastair had taken a carving knife to him again this morning and the wounds were still weeping slightly. He had carved and carved….

_*flashback*_

_“I heard that you’ll be leaving me soon…”_

_Stab, swish, then pooling blood._

_Dean grunted and pulled against his restraints, forcing down the scream that was building in his throat._

_“I’m going to miss our little…chats.” Slices were slow and deep, cutting along either side of his spine. “In honor of our temporary goodbye, I think I’m going to break my one rule…”_

_Dean swallowed a mouthful of bile and felt his muscles shake and tense._

_“…Such a pretty face…” Alastair brought the knife up to Dean’s paling cheek, “Such.” The tip pressed into the corner of his forehead. “A pretty.” He sliced the knife down the side of Dean’s face, leaving a deep five-inch gash in its wake. “Face.”_

_Dean screamed._

_Alastair then took the knife and carved his name into Dean’s side._

_“An artist must sign its work.”_

_*end flashback*_

Dean unconsciously lifted a cuffed hand to the side of his face, feeling the gash throb against the mask. It still felt like his face was on fire and the thought of Alistair’s name permanently etched into his side made him want to vomit. The slice on his face would scar for sure, always reminding him of his time at the prison, his time with Alastair, every time he looked in the mirror.

He wanted to be relieved that he was even out. That he wasn’t going to die in that God-forsaken place. But he wasn’t. Because this whole place was “God-forsaken”. That was the whole point. And in Dean’s mind, the Capitol was the most forsaken part of it.

Not only because of the general terrors that waited inside, but for him specifically, he was more frightened of _who_ was waiting inside.

John Fucking Winchester.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. That was why he needed to get it together. Dean rolled his shoulders back once again, practicing his ability to stand up tall.

He couldn’t appear weak in front of his father. He couldn’t. That demon was prestigious in the art of assholery. If Dean didn’t manage to wipe away his pain before they met, John Winchester would look on him with disgust and view him as less than dust. And Dean just couldn’t take that. No matter how much he hated him. He still wanted his respect. How messed up was that?

Dean could hide pain. He could.

Training to be a Knight of Hell had taught him many things, most of them horrific in nature. But the ability to hide pain in the face of your enemies was the one thing he was grateful for.

He could do it.

The name inscribed on his ribs flared and pulsed with each step.

He had to.

He had to not be afraid.

  
“Dean.”

A soft, warm, raven-colored wing brushed gently against his back. It’s weight heavy and grounding. He let his cheek brush against the ruffled feathers and felt a small smile grace his lips as his muscles untensed and relaxed.

He glanced over at the angel walking beside him, eyes staring at him in concern and worry.

Dean offered a reassuring, albeit shaky, thumbs up. Though that did little to ease the angel’s stress. “We’ll be okay Cas. Don’t worry.” The angel hummed lowly in response and tucked his wing in closer to Dean’s side.

Dean would be lying if he said that he didn’t find the angel’s presence comforting. The two of them had begun to _bond_ in a way. But more than that. It was difficult to explain. All Dean knew was that just the feeling of being surrounded Cas’s wing seemed to lull his current inner turmoil.

Comfort. Warmth.

No, he wouldn’t let go of that for the world.

\-------------------------------------------------

“My Lady Abbadon. Your guest has arrived.”

Twin black voids raised to meet the messenger’s gaze. A blood red forked tongue snaking out in irritation. “Send him in.”

The heavy slate doors swung inwards towards her throne, revealing a tall demon. Eyes equally black, and face chiseled out of weathered granite. His stance was predatory and confident as he strode into her throne room, boots ringing loud and solid on the marbled floor.

“You’re late.” She hissed.

John Winchester prowled right up to her cushioned seat, not responding. The man had the cunning likeness of a battle-worn panther, muscled and taught. He seemed ready for a fight with anyone and anything. Waiting, waiting to pounce on whomever his next victim had the misfortune to be. If Abbadon had been a lesser demon, she might have cowered. But she did not.

“I’ve ordered for two of the prisoners from Etnad prison to be sent here to me.”

“Why does that concern me?”

The demon queen cocked a haughty brow, “Because one of those prisoners… is your eldest son.”

The other demon’s whole body stiffened, anger pulsing like a marathon runner’s heartbeat. “I thought you had decided to let him rot under Alastair’s knife for the rest of his life.” The fury edged into his tone, the disgust towards his eldest was practically dripping from his tongue in a puddle on the floor.

“Because… he knows things. And I don’t have time for that creeping sadist to drag it out of him. We need an advantage in this war. A strike to Heaven from one of its own back doors… that would practically secure us the war…”

John straightened, eyes narrowing, “You really think _you_ can get him to show us the passage through Purgatory? To succeed where EVERYONE else has failed?” He huffed out a dry laugh.

“Yes, I do. He’s the only one who knows the entrance, and our window of opportunity is closing. I have had enough of his games. He will _break_ for me.” Abbadon cocked her head, studying John closely, “Or he’ll break for you.”

His head snapped up at that, a wicked smile drawing over his face. “Now _that_ , I would love to do.”

“I thought so.”

A pause.

“Who’s the second prisoner?”

“An angel.”

John rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Who?”

“Captain Castiel. He was one of Heaven’s main strategists. Revered even. He will help us with what happens after we enter Heaven. He knows the layout of that place like the back of his hand. It will make the assault infallible.”

“Why would he help us?”

The blood red forked tongue flicked in and out through crystal white teeth.

“Because he rebelled.”

\------------------------------------------

“Awww. Look at these love birds!”

Dean and Cas jumped at the booming voice behind them. The guards had been arguing among themselves for the past few hours. They guessed it was too much to ask for the demons attention to stay away from them for the whole trip. Wonderful.

“Coo! Coo! Little bird wants to nest with his boy toy!” The demons erupted into a round of cackling and laughter. They started taunting the two with cooing sounds and chirping noises. “Ooh! Wings’ is getting mad!” “Look at those ruffled feathers! I think we pissed him off!”

Dean leaned over towards Cas’s ear, noting the angel reddening face. “Dude, maybe you should close the wings, huh? Don’t antagonize these guys, it’s not worth it.” The Seraph glared at him in response.

“No.”

The cackle of the demon’s mocking laughter rung like a lion’s roar, deafening in his ears. He noticed one of the demons trying to position himself directly behind them as the group continued walking. Cas clung his wing to Dean’s shoulder all the more tightly. Why couldn’t these demons just leave them alone?

“Hey! Enough of the disgusting display, bird brain! None of us want to see your tainted crap!” The demon raised his spear and thrust the glistening tip sharply into the base of Cas’s wing, stabbing all the way through the bone.

Cas screamed and crumpled to his knees, agony washing over him, the smell of iron-rich blood polluting the air.

“Cas!”

There was pulsing throb that was building in his head, his vision filling with black spots. The agony in his wing was like a lightning strike with a trail of wicked fire left in its wake. So much pain. It was almost blinding. Then the angel was vaguely aware of three of the guards grabbing Dean and holding him back, even though he struggled hard against them. “CAS! Let go of me you son of a bitch! Let me go!” He heard grunts and yelps of pain as Dean started to fight back against his restrainers.

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone stilled at the sharp command. Cas’s gaze lifting to see who was speaking.

A tall, athletically built demon stepped out from the head of group, making her way towards the demon had stabbed Cas. All the other demons parted out of her way, scrambling to move fast enough. Her eyes looked predatory and hostile, narrowing in on the other demon as she approached. She had a golden and red design tattooed into the side of her face that curved elegantly down her neck. The muscled line of her shoulders tensing in irritation.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

She stalked forward, ripping the spear out of the shocked demon’s hands. Then within the next beat, she swung the spear above her head before swinging it lower and slicing the tip clean through the demon’s neck. Beheading him without a moment of hesitation.

“Oh.”

The demon glared at Dean and he snapped his jaw shut.

“In case any of you low-life’s have forgotten. THIS ANGEL-“ She pointed the spear at Castiel, stepping over the newly severed head. “-is OFF. LIMITS.” She swung her gaze towards the other demons surrounding her, being sure to make eye-contact with each one of them.

“Lady Abbadon wants him unharmed, so the next one of you fucking morons who decides to think that your ego needs a little fluffing,” She bared her teeth and growled, “you’re going to wish this was _your_ head, rolling in the dirt at my feet.”

Silence.

“Good.”

The demons remained frozen and pale as she walked towards Dean, motioning for the guards to release him. He stumbled forward, taking a moment to regain his footing before meeting her gaze and clearing his throat at the sight of her clear white eyes. “Thank you.”

She didn’t respond but instead pulled a swathe of bandages from her leather trench coat, handing them to him with a smirk. He nodded and made his way over to Cas’s bleeding form. “I got you dude. Just breathe.” The angel nodded silently and slowly let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes against the pain.

While Dean was doing his best to patch up the injured wing, he murmured soothing reassurances into the angel’s ears. _Breathe. Just breathe. You'll be okay, Cas. I'm here, Cas. I'm here._ It was only until a few minutes after that he finally glanced up at the woman who was still watching them. He swallowed, “I don’t recognize you from the prison.”

She tilted her head, amused. “That’s because I’m not from the prison.” Dean quirked an eyebrow. “I’m the one who brought the orders for your transfer. My name’s Etasiel.” Dean blinked, surprised.

“That’s an angel name.”

The demon just smirked and turned to walk away, heading for the front of the line again. “Yes. It is.”

Dean watched her go with that thought of confusion still buzzing in his head. But at the sound of Castiel's moan, he quickly turned back to his patient, mind suddenly filled with nothing but the angel's well-fair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have come to the realization that I accidentally wrote twice the amount that I normally do for a chapter. Oh well, hope you all enjoyed your double dose for this one! (And no, I'm not ashamed for the little bits of fluff in this chapter.)
> 
> Please let me know below what you thought! I love all your comments, it really motivates me to write.  
> (Also, thoughts on this new OC? Do you want to see more of her?)


	5. Chapter 5

His face softened into a gentle smile, the cool breeze brushing through his sun-touched hair. It caressed his face with a loving hand and tousled his locks in a playful gesture. He could see the forest green trees swaying slightly with this companion. Growing and shimmering with such a vibrant green that the only pure description of the color would be: life.

Living. Thriving.

He would never care to see Heaven, for surely nothing could be as magnificent as this.

The long grass tickled his ears as he dropped his head back onto the ground, his laughter ringing out in joy as he heard Sammy come tumbling down the hill after him, giggling out his name between huffs of air.

“Dean! Dean! Let’s play tag! Let’s play tag!”

His face broke into a toothy grin as his little brother’s flushed and chubby cheeks popped into his line of sight, inches from his face. The kid looked at him with big round eyes, hair flopping down in a frame around his face. “…Please?”

He hummed for a moment, lifting a teasing eyebrow as he tried to hold in his laughter. Then with lightning speed, he reached up, pinched Sammy’s cheek, then leapt to his feet and started sprinting off to the next hill. “You’re it!”

“Wait! That’s not fair!”

Dean pumped his lean legs, feeling that build of joy swell in his chest like his heart would burst at any moment. He felt full and happy and _alive_. There was a tingling in his toes and feathery light kisses from the breeze on his arms. He glanced back to see his well-fed and healthy little brother doing his best to catch up far behind him. He chuckled to himself, another laugh escaping his lips, as he carefully slowed his pace slightly, giving his brother a fighting chance to catch him.

The sun sparkled in the corner of his eye, and its warmth sunk into his bones.

The breeze whipped through his hair, tickling his nose.

The grass was padded and thick beneath his bare feet, letting him feel Mother Earth’s personal touch.

It was beautiful.

It was all he had ever hoped for.

It was….

“Dean. We need to go.”

Before his eyes, he watched as the green hills misted and transformed into black, ashen mountains. The warm sun fading out into oblivion and the sky turning into a dark and blood-red thundering cover, swirling and flashing with fiery lighting. And Sammy… Sammy turned to dust right before his eyes.

And the laughter withered and died in his heart.

Nothing left behind but an empty hole of sorrow and agony.

“Good, you’re awake. The demons are packing up the camp, I believe we shall be moving again soon.” Castiel’s voice sounded faded and pained. Much like Dean’s heart at the moment. He turned his eyes finally to the angel crouching beside him, limbs tucked carefully in towards his chest.

Dean sighed and pushed his long-lost memories to the far back corners of his mind. He lifted himself up to sitting and glanced over to his companion, a worried gaze studying the angel’s hunched form. “How is your wing?”

The Seraph’s crystal blue eyes flicked over to his face, a harsh twinge of pain pinching his eyebrows. “I have been better, but I consider this level of pain manageable and fairly light given our current circumstances.” Dean nodded quietly and shifted to sitting directly next to Cas, shoulder pressing to shoulder. Personal space be damned, he was tired.

“What I do not understand is how I am not healing as fast I should. A wound of this kind should be much more manageable by this point in recovery.” Cas rolled his back stiffly, grimacing at the pull and the harsh pain that would not release.

Dean puffed out a breath of air in exhaustion, his eyes half-lidded and staring off into space. “It’s because you’re down here, angel. An angel’s powers are weakened in the pits of Hell.” He let his head roll to the side, laying heavily on Castiel’s shoulder, eyes unseeing and numb. “This is the birthplace of evil Cas. It can wear even on Seraph’s grace.”

Cas hummed in resignation, letting his body lean into Dean’s.

He let himself quietly relish in the comforting warmth of the demon’s skin. It was something real, something grounding. Unconsciously, Cas let himself nuzzle his nose into the demon’s sandy brown hair, taking in the scent of leather and sunshine. It felt like touching a piece of earth, solid and living. But when he glanced down to catch sight of Dean’s eyes, he felt his heart twist.

The demon’s eyes were dead. The vibrant green was faded and draining of color, glazed over with memories of torture and tragedy. What happiness used to fill those eyes was long-gone and had been for a while. Even its usual mask of defiance was slipping.

Without thinking much of the consequences, Castiel lowered his chin, softly pressing his lips into Dean’s forehead. His heart tightening in sadness as he watched a small tear slip unbidden from one of Dean’s unfocused eyes. Cas quickly applied one more kiss before laying his head on top of Dean’s.

A few moments passed silently, the demon guards bustling about in their efforts to quickly pack up camp, Etasiel yelling at their incompetence. None of them even noticing the angel and the demon that had fallen into their own little silent world full of memories and sadness.

\----------------------------

John Winchester was a demon known for his strive for vengeance. He was known to be powerful and fortified, hardened and enraged by his past. As one of Hell’s most ferocious commanders, he was feared and forever seen with apprehension.

All demons were considered corrupt and mutilated creatures, but John Winchester had a hatred of Heaven and Earth that made lesser demons tremble in fear. He was avoided by the servants and the guards when at all possible. He was revered and idolized by his fellow commanders. And he was regarded with potential by Hell’s Queen.

There were once rumors that he ripped the heads off of angels with his bare hands while on the battlefield. That he could tear out the jugular of his enemies with nothing but his teeth. That he even could snap his fingers and it would set a small city on fire.

But there was one rumor that ran beneath all the others which no one dared mention in his presence. That the great John Winchester… had a traitor for a son.

“Sir, the prisoner transfer is expected to arrive in a few hours. They sent a messenger ahead to announce their arrival.” The guard shifted his feet and stared pointedly at the ground, scuffing his boots into the icy black tile. “Lady Abaddon has requested your presence in her throne room at that time to receive them.”

John grunted in response and the guard scampered out of the room, door slamming in an echo at his exit. The demon commander leaned back against his chair, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He was looking forward to seeing Dean. The reunion would end in the young man’s blood and screams, John would revel in it. After the transgressions Dean had committed against him. After everything he had done to Mary and Sam…

John paused. His fist clenching in rage.

His worthless son would pay for all of it.

\----------------------------------

“This isn’t quite what I had been expecting of Hell’s Capitol…”

Dean glanced over to angel trudging beside him. The poor guy was wrinkling his nose against the fowl pollution that clouded the dingy alleyway. To an angel, the smell of sulfur and ash was probably more than over-powering.

Dean let his eyes wander around the ragged streets. Dark, menacing shadows crept out from the crevices. Huddled, filthy forms lay tucked into corners behind dumpsters. There were fire pits dotting either side of the alley, with human forms tided to metal spits above them as straggling demons crowded close, cooing for their next meal. Dean tried not to gag.

“They’re taking us in the back-way. Less attention drawn, I guess.” He swayed out of the way of a rabid hellhound, tearing past them after a fleeing beggar. “These are Hell’s rejects.”

“Quite a lovely bunch, aren’t they?”

The duo looked up at their group’s leader.

Etasiel smirked at them and winked. “I’ve always thought they added a sense of ‘hellish reality’ to this circumcised pit.” The demon woman nodded to an elderly figure nearby that was gnawing on a rotten rat. “Kind of reminds you what demons really are. Uncivilized creatures.”

Dean snorted humorlessly in agreement, eyeing Etasiel curiously. Ever since the incident with the spear, Etasiel had been much more talkative with them. She had made sure they had gotten fair rations and water on the journey here, often sneaking them a few bandages for Castiel when the other demons were otherwise occupied.

To be honest, Dean and Cas rather liked her. She was bad-ass, no doubt about it. But at the same time, she had never really seemed quite on-board with Hell as a whole. As if she was uncomfortable with her position.

“Is the main entrance less…” Cas swallowed thickly, glaring back at a demon that was licking their lips at him. “…less wild?” Etasiel chuckled at that, shaking her head in amusement at the angel’s obvious discomfort with his surroundings.

“They are more deadly poised then ravenous scavengers, if that is what you mean.”

Dean’s throat tightened, the scattered lighting casting shadows against the hollows of his cheeks. His thin face grim. “They know how to put a mask over their mangled faces, and that makes them far more dangerous.” For a brief moment the image of John Winchester flashed in his mind.

“Wonderful.” Cas muttered under his breath.

About an hour later, the small group was dragging their feet through the long hallway to the Queen’s throne room. Dean’s fear was building in his chest. A tight fist around his hammering heart. He was trying to keep his chin up. Trying to keep his composure. But a small tremor in his knees betrayed him.

Cas quietly slipped his hand into Dean’s, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance, before releasing his grasp as they stepped into the black marbled throne room.

John Winchester’s eyes immediately laid upon his son the instant as they stepped into the room. As soon as Dean met his gaze, he saw his son’s features drain of all color, eyes widened, and stance stiffened. His son looked beaten and broken, with bruising on his face and scars littering his skin. Much more worse for wear than the last time he had seen him. Good.

“Well, well, well. The guests of honor have finally arrived.” Abaddon rose from her throne, black eyes searching the new faces with sick amusement. “We are going to do such beautiful things together.”

Dean tried to focus on Abaddon’s voice, he tried. But he could feel his father’s stare boring into his back and the tremors in his hand increased tenfold. The man who had ripped apart his life, who had made him into… _this._ So many haunting memories filtered into his mind that for a moment he was scared he would actually choke on them and suffocate to death in this very room.

His pulse was racing, and tears were threatening his eyes, his body on the verge of a panic attack. He was supposed to be better than this. He’d had a plan! He was going to be strong in front of his father. He was going to show how hardened he was, that he wasn’t afraid… but those eyes. Those damn eyes. Staring into his soul. He just-

“Breathe.”

Dean snapped his head over to the demon standing at his left. The demon with the angel name.

She nodded subtlety in encouragement and silently mimed taking a deep breath. Dean blinked in response, stunned by her caring attention. He swallowed and forced himself to breathe, grateful that no one else had noticed. Then he made himself focus back to what Abaddon was saying. His father could damn wait his turn.

“Both of you were brought here for very specific reasons. And I thought that, instead of throwing you two back into _another_ jail cell with _another_ torturer, we might start off this exchange with civility. There really is no need to bring blood and guts into this conversation.”

She smiled at Dean, lips twisting cruelly into a horrid expression, “Dear boy, you probably already know why _you’re_ here…” Dean felt his throat close up and Cas turned to look at him with a terrified and worried expression.

“But _you_ Castiel. To you, I should probably explain.” Cas looked back to Abbadon, regretfully tearing his eyes away from Dean. He lifted his chin and straightened his back in defiance.

“It does not matter whether you explain or not. I shall never be party to your undertakings.”

“Not even if it meant getting back at Heaven… the Heaven you _rebelled_ from?”

Cas’s eyes widened and took in a sharp intake of breath. But he forced down his shock and emotions with a valiant amount of effort. Dean’s presence beside him giving him courage. “I will not trade one master for another. There is nothing you can do to me to make me help you and persuade me otherwise.”

Abaddon was silent for a moment. Thoughtful.

Suddenly she switched her gaze fully to Etasiel, singling in on the demon, Castiel now suddenly and completely ignored. Leaving him confused and quite wary.

Abaddon stared down the length of her nose to strike her gaze into Etasiel’s eyes. She prowled forward, circling the static demon, one hand reaching out to ghost over the remains of two large burn scars that Etasiel knew lay forever carved into her back.

“You know, you have always been my favorite…experiment.” Abaddon’s low voice purred in Etasiel’s ear. “From that first day we caught you. Awe-striking and radiating power. Those pure white wings, and those golden blue eyes…”

Etasiel’s skin crawled and she forced her breathing into a normal pace. But her heart betrayed her mask, pounding relentlessly against her ribs with all the memories and all the pain driving it like a jackhammer into her chest. She could feel Castiel’s horrified gaze sear into her soul.

“Beautiful creature. Heaven’s pride and joy. The Streets of Gold used to part for you, Michael himself would speak your name. So pure and beautiful and everything an angel of the Lord should be… But we took that from you. Didn’t we?” Abaddon’s eyes glinted sharp and she grabbed Etasiel’s jaw, dragging her nails into the rough skin, feeling the small trickle of blood over her fingertips. “I still remember the day we started on you. The day we ripped out those pure white wings, feather by feather, and burned what remained down to your very bones. I remember when we extracted your grace, drop by drop. Ripping Heaven from your soul until there was nothing left but a graceless _human shell_. Vulnerable. Weak.”

The room echoed with a thousand tons of silence. Suffocating and dry.

“I remember when we dragged you to your first rack and Alastair laid waste to your pathetic soul. How he carved and he twisted. And he pulled every last strand of anything good or beautiful from you. I remember how you begged. How you screamed… how you cried. For centuries.” The demon queen lowered her voice to a rasping whisper which fled to every corner of the room, “And I remember… that final day. When your tears had long since turned to black ash on your cheeks and your screams had turned to animalistic growls of rage. When your soul was finally left so twisted and burned and mangled beyond recognition of anything it had been once before… I remember when you stepped off that rack… and your golden blue eyes turned a damning black. Before paling into nothingness. As dark and as void-less as what you will now forever be. A monster. A mutation…. A _demon._ ”

Abaddon slowly released her jaw, relentless gaze boring into Etasiel’s eyes. Watching intently in psychotic fervor as they lowered to the floor under the weight of a lifetime of shame.

The truth laid bare to every soul in that room.

Abaddon grinned in haunting satisfaction and turned on her heels towards a stiff and silent Castiel. “Taken from Heaven’s finest angel to Earth’s weakest human. And from Earth’s weakest human to Hell’s most corrupt demon.” She stopped, her face inches away from Castiel’s hesitant gaze. “So shall your fate be also, Castiel. If you deny us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider yourselves well-fed because that was the longest chapter I have written for this fic so far, Whoop! Whoop!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, please let me know what you guys thought in the comments below! You guys are great motivators to my writing brain. (P.S. Also, my apologies if some of that was a little more intense than you were expecting, I kind of forget that I'm pretty much desensitized to gory stuff.)


	6. Chapter 6

Helplessness is an underwhelming word with overwhelming connotations. When someone thinks of the word helplessness, they think of minor frustrations. They imagine the feeling of being helpless as a mild and timid emotion, where the person is staring forlorn, off into the distance. Or perhaps of a child that must wait on their parent’s assistance to reach the cookie jar. They see it as a soft and gentle thing.

They are wrong.

Helplessness is a raging, gripping emotion that is born from total lack of control. It is a paralyzing fear that clutches the sides of your skull in its hands and squeezes until the pressure is ever constant, ever building, ever screaming in your mind. It is desperation that has no outlet, no relief, no place to run to for hope and peace. There is no calm, no soothing of its ransacking cascade.

Helplessness is not just mental. It is physical. The body is paralyzed, but buzzing with need underneath the skin, as if someone had dropped your body in hardening cement while a thousand hornets swarm in your organs, pushing against your ribs to escape. The heart starts racing and the terror starts pounding, and there is no thought or feeling in your body that is not wholly focused on this one feeling. This one all-encompassing emotion.

It can turn sane men mad with nightmares. Panic flowing through the veins like poisoned blood, a burning acid that sears into the brain and screams throughout every nerve. And it builds….it builds and it builds, until the pressure crushes your bones to dust and caves in your skull with a final crack. Breaking every foundation your strength is built upon.

It is a horror to feel it.

Helplessness is a nightmare to experience.

And Castiel could not escape it.

He stood there, staring into the void-less pits of Abaddon’s eyes, and he could do _nothing_.

Just stand there in silence.

_Helplessly._

Abaddon curled her lips into a cruel and knowing smile, sharpened teeth flashing. “It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it? Having to help us. Leading us into Heaven…. Or facing something even more vile than eternal damnation.”

Cas swallowed. The acid of shame burning his throat.

“I know that your natural reaction is to resist us. After all, demons are just _abominations_.”

Cas unconsciously felt his eyes slide over to Dean, the demon’s head hanging low as he silently dug his fingernails into his palm. The angel’s eyes softened for a moment, _not all demons._ He subtly stretched out his fingers brush lightly against Dean’s forearm, catching the demon’s startled gaze before they tuned back in to Abaddon’s monologue.

“But, I think that perhaps recently you have begun to be a little more… relaxed…in your views of what is right and what is wrong. I mean, you did rebel. I’d say that’s not exactly pristine angelic behavior.” Abaddon hissed, taking gleeful satisfaction at the way the angel’s head snapped up.

“How do you know that?” Cas’ voice was hoarse, his eyes wide in panic.

The demon queen just smiled. She turned to the guards and motioned for them to lead the prisoners out. “I’ll give you a few days to think on my proposition, Castiel. I’m curious to see if you are as adaptable as I hope you are. Don’t let your stubbornness destroy your future.” She turned her back to them in dismissal and went to sit at her throne, a smirk haunting their retreating footsteps.

Cas felt dazed as the guards yanked him towards the hallway and out of the throne room, Dean’s fingers brushing against his in comfort. He was just about give his hand a quick squeeze when he felt Dean being ripped out of the small cluster of bodies suddenly.

“Dean!”

He looked up to see an older demon twisting Dean’s arm behind his back, a menacing look shrouding his face, before he shoved Dean in the direction of a nearby side hall. “Come on, boy. I think it’s about time we had some long-overdue one-on-one.”

Dean’s eyes were wide with fear, his body shaking violently as he stared at the man. His mouth opened to respond, to retort, to say _something,_ but no sound came out except for a dry gasp cracking in his chest.

“Dean!” Cas watched in horror as his demon was dragged down the passageway, legs trembling so hard the boy could barely remain on his feet. And his eyes. God, those eyes would surely haunt Castiel for his next few days of solitude. They were eyes that held painful memories and deep-seeded fear. Tortured, traumatized eyes that knew exactly what was about to happen to him.

Castiel screamed.

The anger boiling under his skin as he fought blindly against the arms of the demon guards that were now restraining him. That were keeping him from Dean. From protecting his demon.

He didn’t know who the older demon was, or where he was taking Dean, but that look in Dean’s eyes was enough to drive him mad and scream at the injustice of it all. Scream at the cruelty of their situation. He didn’t ask for this. For any of it.

He didn’t ask to be captured, to watch his friend, his-… to watch Dean being tortured at that prison. He didn’t ask to be speared by a demon underling with no ability to do anything about it. To be given an impossible proposition by Hell’s queen.

It wasn’t fair!

When he rebelled it was supposed to make things better…

And now Dean. He couldn’t lose Dean. Castiel was so scared, he couldn’t bear to lose him. He couldn’t. It was all too much.

“DEAN!!”

\----------------------------------------------------

The green-eyed demon felt his father’s grip on him tighten as Cas’ screams echoed from around the corner. He blinked back tears at the thought of having to deal with this alone. He needed Cas. He wanted his angel.

John Winchester dragged him forcefully down a narrow set of stone stairs, leading toward a more remote portion of the fortress. The man was smiling. A horrible twisted smile, and all Dean’s previous resolve at facing his father crumbled down to dust.

Soon he found himself being thrown headlong into a dimly lit room. Not a room. Dean blinked, his eyes adjusting. A torture chamber. Fuck.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. I am so going to enjoy this.” The demon walked over to one of the many table covered in tools, carefully feeling over each one. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart. Breaking every bone in your body. And most of all… just having the sheer pleasure of watching you writhe in the agony that was made by my hands.”

The younger demon glared up at John as guards filed into the room to restrain him before they quickly exited again without a word. He wanted to be strong… but he knew what is father was capable of. Knew what he could do. Knew what he could do to _him._ What he _had_ done to him…

Dean blinked away his tears as he watched his father approached his rack, “After all the crap you’ve done to me. What you turned me into. When is it ever going to be enough for you?!”

Pitted black eyes snapped up to Dean’s face, rage seething underneath uncontrollably, he grabbed the front of Dean's shirt lowered his face to be within an inch of Dean's, “It’ll never be enough, do you hear me? Never! Because YOU TOOK THEM FROM ME!!”

Dean felt the fear drain slowly from his body, drip by drip, a small warmth growing in his chest. He smiled up at his father. Genuine and happy at the thought of the one thing he had actually done right. “Yes. Yes I did.”

\----------------------------------

Etasiel reached for the top shelf, fingers lightly brushing against the golden bowl before she managed to grab it and pull it down. Then she quietly went her cabinet and rummaged through it until she spotted the small, red vile of blood.

She arranged the items on the table and took a seat.

Carefully she poured the blood into the bowl, reciting a long rhythm of Latin as the blood began to swirl in the bowl, bubbling under the power of the language being spoken.

“Do you hear me brother?”

There was a moment of silence before…

“Really Etasiel? You’re playing telephone with a blood bowl now?”

The demon chuckled at the indignant squeak that came from the other end of the call, “What can I say? The reception down here is downright hellish.”

“Oh ha ha. You’re just the fountain of comedy, aren’t you? They’re going to have to appoint you to court jester if you don’t let up soon.” A pause. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

Etasiel sighed, rubbing the heels of her hands into her forehead, “No.” she mumbled, “It’s not.”

“Alright. Spill it dear, dark, sister of mine. What trouble have you caused now?”

“Why do you always assume it’s my fault?”

“Because it always is.”

“Well not this time it isn’t.”

“Uh huh.”

“Castiel has been taken. They’re trying to use him to find their way through Heaven. But obviously, he’s less than thrilled about cooperating. Abaddon’s growing impatient.”

“Fuck.” A beat. “Why do they need Castiel when they have you?”

Etasiel bit her lip quietly, “Gabriel, you know that Heaven was redesigned after I was taken specifically for this reason. My information would be obsolete now. They haven’t changed it again because only a few know Castiel was captured and not killed like the rest of his group, and even those ones don’t consider him to have dire enough information to require such a change. Again.”

“Damn it Castiel.”

“I'm sorry. I know you are fond of him.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do, oh great angelic one?”

“This isn’t a time for teasing Etasiel.”

“…sorry Gabe.”

There was a light tapping on the end and slight humming as she listened to Gabriel think through the situation. “He’s in the Capitol?”

“Yes.”

“….Okay… I might have an idea…maybe… And Balthazar might have a few tricks up his sleeve as well. I’ll call you back after I can solidify a few things.”

“As you wish. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thanks. And Etasiel?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to hear from you sister.”

“…you too Gabe. You too.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Castiel stared at the wall. The modernized, golden gilded wall. The freaking beautiful wall. In the deadass gorgeous room. Damn it.

Clearly the demons were trying to play good cop first. Leaving him here in this lavishly furnished room with food and wine and whatever the heck he could possibly ask for. As if to say, ‘Hey! Hell is a great place! This is what you would have if you joined us! We aren’t so bad!”

Cas hated it.

He kicked angrily at another hand-carved table leg, cursing at his inability for penance. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be comfortable. Not when he knew that Dean was probably in a place nowhere near as nice. Probably laying broken and bleeding somewhere while that psycho hacked into his beautiful freckled skin.

Another table leg splintered against the wall with a crack.

He needed to do something. He needed to get out. Now. Most importantly, he needed to get Dean out. _Beautiful, beautiful Dean_ … A hot tear ran down Cas’ cheek before he wiped it away angrily and proceeded to smash a gilded mirror to smithereens with his fist.

Two days. It had been two days.

He slumped to floor, ignoring the small bites of glass that he sat on, head falling into his hands. Anything could have happened to Dean in these past two days. Anything at all. Horrifying things. Another tear slipped down his cheek.

“Castiel?”

The angel looked up wearily as Etasiel slipped into the room, moving to crouch in front of him, “What do you want?” His voice cracked and the ex-angel regarded him sadly as she took in the complete carnage that littered the room.

“You’re more worried about him than you are about yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Etasiel sighed, resting her hand on his shoulder and stroking her thumb in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, “It’s understandable. There’s no telling what John will do to him. I’m so sorry, Castiel. I know you care for him very deeply.”

“Who’s John?”

“The demon who took him away. Dean’s sire.”

Castiel jerked up at that. His eyes fuming with hatred, “His father?!? Why would his own father wish to torture him and-and HATE him?? I saw the fear in Dean’s eyes! What kind of father instills _TERROR_ in their child’s eyes?!”

Etasiel quickly gripped both shoulders tightly, “Castiel, calm down.” The angel simply glared at her in response, fire burning in his eyes, “It’s a long story, Castiel.” The demon sighed while Castiel merely gritted his teeth.

“Then. Tell. Me.”

The demon and the angel stared at each other for a moment before Etasiel finally relented. “Fine. But you must keep calm Cas.” No response. “I don’t know all the details, but from what I do know… Dean wasn’t born a demon. He was human once.”

Cas’ eyes widened.

“So was his father. Once. A long time ago. John left when him and his brother Sam were very young. Sam had only just been born, I think. John went to make a demon deal, left them behind. Something about wanting to make more of his life…I’m not sure. Anyways, in the deal he asked to be made a demon, to serve Hell willingly, and in exchange he would give them his youngest son Sam, to serve at his side. He was convinced Sam would be stronger than Dean… again, I don’t know why.”

Cas’ nostrils flared, his hatred boiling hard inside his grace.

“But he left them alone, until Sam could grow up. During that time Mary was taken ill. Something chronic, it took years to get over it and Dean had to provide for the whole family for almost eighteen years. Then, when Sam turned eighteen…John came back.” The demon paused, scrunching her brows in thought, “From what I heard, Dean had found out about the demon dealing and had been preparing for it, allying himself with Heaven and making connections. So when John came, he was ready. He helped Mary and Sam escape to Heaven. They were safe, even given immortality and a comfortable life.”

Cas swallowed hard, “But Dean?”

Etasiel sighed deeply, “Dean knew the demon deal had to be fulfilled, so he offered himself to take Sam’s place and be taken by Hell. To be corrupted in his brother’s stead. Needless to say…John was furious.”

The angel let his tears flow unchecked down his face at the thought of what Dean went through. Willingly. Sacrificing everything. A sob escaped his throat and the demon squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

“I need to get him out of here…” Castiel choked out brokenly.

“…I might be able to help you with that one actually.”

Cas’ head jerked up, eyes red rimmed and wide. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yikes. Has it really been a month since I updated?? I am so sorry guys. I hope you like this one!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments below!
> 
> P.S... I going to TRY to keep myself accountable to this story... like actually try...we’ll see. BUT, because of that I am now going to be regularly posting every week either on fridays or saturdays. Soooo... Yeah. See you in a week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some heavy angst at the end part. Just FYI.

Archangels are meant to be the pinnacle of the angelic hierarchy. Six wings, large and golden, each feather a gilded masterpiece. Archangels are pious, their knowledge is guided by eons of wisdom and philosophy’s birthplace. They are just, weighing good and evil in every action they behold.

These beautiful, wondrous creatures are said to have the strength of ten thousand men and be able to exude the grace of ten thousand souls. They are unemotional, stoic beings that observe, but do not interfere. Their maturity and wisdom is often idolized by other angels and they provided steady leadership and grounding guidance to those around them.

However, with Gabriel… not so much.

Currently, the growth-stunted creature was hanging upside-down on top his marbled roof sucking on three lollipops at the same time, for extra concentration, of course, and humming the tune to Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” while plotting Cas’ escape from Hell.

He crossed his ankles and closed his eyes to focus, tongue unconsciously swirling around the lollipops in his mouth. His fingers tapped against the roof, accidentally brushing against the small pile of empty candy wrappers.

“Gabe, darling, you called for me?”

Gabriel huffed and snapped his eyes open, groaning as his hauled himself up to a sitting position, glancing down off the edge of the roof as Balthazar step out onto the balcony directly below him. “Oh look, you finally managed to drag your ass over here. What an honor.”

The other angel rolled his eyes and lounged against the railing lazily, “My _severest_ apologies for actually having a life Gabriel. So sorry that I couldn’t just hop over to you like a fluffy little Easter bunny.”

Gabriel snorted.

“Now what do you want?”

“Why do you just assume I want something?”

Balthazar just glared back in response.

“Alright, alright. I do need something.” Gabriel popped one of the lollipops out of his mouths and tossing the now empty stick off the roof. “What do you know about getting into Hell?”

A pause.

“Impossible. If we had that kind of information we would have used it already to infiltrate Hell. No one knows any way to get into that dreadful place unnoticed. Unless of course you just want to go through the front door. Which is a splendid idea for getting one’s head severed from their shoulders.” Balthazar chewed on his lip for a moment. “Why?”

Gabriel swung his legs around and finally slid off the edge of the roof, coming to land with plop beside Balthazar on the balcony. “They have Castiel. I need to do an extraction.”

“Hmm.”

“What? That’s all I get from Chatty McChatterson? ‘Hmm?’”

“I’m just trying to organize this knew information. Obviously, they’re going to try and use him to get through Heaven’s defenses… But how do they plan on getting here in the first place? Unnoticed?”

“Etasiel called me again this morning-“

“Etasiel? You’re still in communication with our fallen sister?”

“Yes, Batsy. Now listen, she told me that they have a demon who knows the way into Purgatory, Dean …something or other-“

“Dean Winchester, yes. I know of him. But from what I hear, they’ve been trying to get him to crack out that lovely information for the past century or two, but the poor bastard hasn’t seemed to crack. Why he won’t just tell them, I don’t know, him being a demon and all. Bloody savages those demons, if you ask me. Torturing your own kind for information. Downright obscene-“

“Batsy. Listen.” Gabriel snapped.

“….” The angel huffed and roll his eyes. “Fine, fine. Get on with it.”

“They’re going to use Dean-o to get into Purgatory, and then from Purgatory get into Heaven’s back door. Then they’ll use Cassie to navigate the city from there.” The archangel slumped against the railing, “But we need to get him out before that can happen. Or before they break him.”

“Cheery thought that.” Came the mumbled reply, “I say, we can’t pull him from Hell… but what if we pull him from Purgatory?”

Gabe’s ears perked up, “You mean, tell them to play along until they reach Purgatory and then do recon there were we can reach them? They’ll be send a scouting party with them the first run through, so we wouldn’t have to fight an army.”

“Indeed.”

Gabriel scratched his chin, “That might actually work…”

“That is, of course, if you can convince the demon to finally play ball after being a locked-up version of Pandora’s box for two centuries.”

“Hmm. What did you say his last name was?”

Balthazar paused, “Winchester?”

“Huh. I might actually know a guy.”

\-----------------------------------

Cas paced the floor. Back and forth, back and forth. Honestly, at this point he was surprised he hadn’t worn a canyon-sized path into the golden tiled flooring. Back and forth, back and forth.

Etasiel had told him about Gabe wanting to get him out. And then this morning she had come back and told him Gabe’s plan. Using Dean to get them to Purgatory. He didn’t like it. They would bring Dean up to speed, obviously, he would probably agree to the plan fairly quickly. It was just so dangerous though. So many places it could go wrong. What if Abaddon or John caught on to what was going on?

Castiel was scared. He wanted out, but… what if Dean got hurt? What if he got killed in the melee? Cas was sure that Dean’s injuries would be astronomical by now… four days of non-stop torture from John. Cas shivered.

There would be little chance that Dean would be able to defend himself in a fight.

Cas chewed on his fingernails, shoulders tense. His injured wing was still burning fiercely, and sometimes he would get crippling shoots of pain down his feathers all the way to each tip. He wish the damn thing would just heal already. For the pain to go away.

He just wanted out. Just wanted to steal Dean away and go live on Earth somewhere. Just the two of them. Somewhere quiet. Maybe in some small little town in Kansas. He remembered Dean mentioning how much he loved Kansas.

The angel closed his eyes and smiled for a moment. Imagining those rolling green hills and that crystal blue sky that Dean would describe on lonely nights in the prison. Dean would talk and talk about all the intricate beauties of Earth. Cas had never really appreciated them before. Before all this. Before Dean.

“Lady Abaddon demands your presence in the throne room.”

Cas jerked at the sudden voice, eyes snapping to the doorway that now inhabited four demon guards. They stood stiffly, backs straight and eyes trained on him in sharp attention.

“You’re to come with us. Now.”

Cas swallowed then forced himself to lift his chin with his ingrained authority. It was time to see if this crazy plan of Gabe's would actually work. He stepped out to follow them to the throne room. His pace was steady, his eyes narrowed and stoned. He’d have to convince Abaddon that he had genuinely decided to agree. That he truly was an angel who, not only would rebel against Heaven, but would betray them as well.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Their steps rang out on the marbled flooring as Cas took this last moment to gain his nerve, just as the throne room door swung open. Relieving inside the Queen demon herself, seated in all her power and authority, red hair lighting like fire in the chandelier’s light.

“Castiel. Approach.”

The Seraph stepped forward, back straight as a board.

“You have been given your four days of contemplation to think over our proposition.” She stood up to her full height, walking forward to stand within three inches of Castiel’s face. “What have you decided? Treason or eternal abomination?”

Cas took a deep breath, his eyes roaming the room as if in deliberation, even though in his mind, things were already decided. He purposely shifted his feet and cleared his throat, putting on a show of indecision.

“I-“ He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes in submission, “I will help you.”

A cold, skeletal finger pressed under his chin to lift his face. Abaddon smiled, her lips curling into a twist, “And why, tell me, have you decided on this?”

Cas searched for a plausible explanation and after a moment realized that only the truth would do. “Dean.” He choked out. “You can’t hurt Dean. That must be part of our deal. Let me talk to him. Let me speak with him, I can convince him to listen to reason. Please, please just leave him alone.” The words came out in a rush and he felt a hot tear trickle down one cheek. “Please.”

Abaddon considered him for a moment. Scanning his face and taking in the slight tremble of his form. “Alright.” She said finally, “We have a deal.”

Cas felt his whole body relax. He would be able to talk to Dean. To tell him to play along. They would be able to get out of here. This might actually work.

“You may speak with Dean tomorrow to convince him to cooperate.”

An icy chill ran down his spine. “No. That’s not- I want to see him now. We had a deal. You-“

“You will see him tomorrow, or you will not see him at all.” The iron words rang in Cas’ head and slowly he nodded in acceptance.

“Alright.”

A low chuckle came from the corner of the room and Cas whipped his head over to the man he hated most in this moment, lounging against the wall, arms crossed. John was laughing at him. At his love for Dean. Cas curled his lip.

“I’ll make sure he’s ready by tomorrow.” John’s voice scraped against his ear so hard Cas for sure thought they would be physically injured. And he couldn’t stop the feeling of his skin crawling and-

Was that blood?

Cas watched as John strolled closer to them, the spattering of blood that littered his clothes coming into a stark focus. Blood. Dean’s blood.

Cas felt himself gagging and his stomach turn.

How could he wait until tomorrow? Knowing what this man was doing to Dean?

The evidence of Dean’s pain swirled before his eyes and swallowed down the vomit building his throat.

One more day.

\-------------------------------------------------

Dean was not okay.

Maybe he hadn’t been for a very long time.

Dean watched the blood drip lazily down his chest, the drops gliding into the crevasses of his ribs and sluggishly down the starved ridges of his abs, and while he stared he couldn’t help but wonder if he should fight back at all anymore. Sam and Mary were safe. Cas would just be slowed down by him if they tried to make any escape. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he just closed his eyes…

He was so tired…

He wanted to be the strong one, like he had been with Sam. The one that pulls through the pain and saves the day. But in reality he wasn’t that man anymore, was he? He was just the damsel in distress now, the weak, defenseless, worthless victim. He wanted to be brave and break them all out of here, to lead the charge in some escape plan.

But he couldn’t.

Maybe he really was just the submissive that got used and then abandoned, maybe he was weak. He wanted Cas to break in and save him, how pathetic. Maybe he should just close his eyes. Maybe that would be better. Maybe he should stop trying to put on this play-acting of being tough and just give up. Give in. He was so tired. And he was tired of being a burden… He just wanted rest. What was he fighting for these days anyway?

Before Cas came… he had been so close to quitting. To giving up. But then that beautiful Seraph came waltzing into his cell and Dean just… lived. For a bit. Cas reminded him what it felt like to be alive. To be free. After so very long being in prison, Dean had forgotten what that felt like.

But at the end of the day, Cas was an angel. And Dean was a demon. A fantasy dream can only give him courage for so long. And as Dean watched John enter back into the room, the door banging shut behind him in finality, Dean realized that his fantasy couldn’t keep him free for any longer.

His father walked over to the table against the far wall, his hands grazing over the now bloodied tools. Almost fondly lifting them up to examine them, fully well aware of Dean's exhausted gaze burrowing into his back. John's calloused fingers slid against the tip of a seared blade, casually watching the iron gleam in the low light of the room.

He kept his back turned purposely, as if Dean was barely worthy of the acknowledgement.

“I have some news for you.”

Dean just stared back, eyes hesitant and distant. “We found another angel this morning. Sparky fella. Apparently he's grown tired of Heaven's orders and has decided to make his own move and come to us. He's an interesting angel. When compared to Castiel," Dean flinched, "he's much more… willing.”

Dean felt all the sweat on his exposed body turn cold. _Please don’t say it. Please-Please don’t._ But John just continued, icy words burning into Dean’s soul. Words he didn’t even question in their validity.

“We didn’t need your stubborn Castiel any longer.” John smiled, finally turning to face Dean. He strode over to his restrained form. Smiling.

“So, we killed him. Just thought you'd want to know.”

Silence.

Cas-

His brain short-circuited. 

Dean couldn’t stop the trembling. He couldn’t stop his mind from screaming and wailing and crying out at the horror. He couldn’t stop his soul from practically wrenching itself in two. He couldn’t stop the thoughts. The screams. The tears. The rage and the- _So we killed him_. It was so dismissive. As if Cas didn't even matter. As if he was just a smudge of dirt John had just wiped off his shoe.

Cas-

Cas was… _no no no no. Not after everything. NO!_

Dean felt his body fold in on itself, his heart tightening in agonizing pain. The tremors wracked his body violently and his eyes glazed over as his thoughts screamed and screamed and…

Silence.

John watched him break and crumble without a single sound passing from either of them.

Cas was gone. Cas was _gone._ His light. His only light in this dark, his only hope. He just… he couldn’t… he- _so we killed him. so we killed him. so we killed him. we killed him. we killed Cas. Cas is dead. Cas is DEAD. Cas is…_

Maybe it was the injuries, or the dehydration, or the centuries of prison, or the fact that the news came from his father. But whatever the reason, Dean didn’t question whether or not what he was told was actually true. Not even seeing the possibility of it all just being mind games.

So Dean accepted those words as truth.

_So we killed him._

And after centuries of pain…

Dean Winchester finally broke.

At the loss of an angel.

_You said you wouldn't leave me._

Dean closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta- daaaaaa. Please no one kill me :)
> 
> Hope you guys like it. Please let me know what you think below, it really makes me happy to hear from you guys and to know people are actually reading my stuff.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... big trigger warning for angst. There is some fluff to counter it a bit because this whole chapter is Dean and Cas focused, but still... yeah. Heavy angst.

From the moment he walked into that room, all Castiel could do was stare in horror. His feet felt rooted to the floor, eyes wide, and pulse beating in the likeness of a chaotic Led Zeppelin track. He couldn’t stop staring at Dean. Couldn’t block out the voice of John Winchester saying that there was no longer any need of him to persuade Dean to cooperate. That Dean had broken in the night.

And although everything within the angel wanted to scream in denial, John was right. Dean was well and truly… broken.

His body. His mind. His eyes.

Castiel began to step forward in a haze, his vision tunneling down to the lone figure hanging limp from the rack. If it were not for the shallow, stuttered rise and fall of Dean’s chest, Cas would have been certain that the demon was dead.

His eyes were closed, head leaning heavily against his arm. And the blood. There was so much blood. It was graphic, and it was gory. Each affliction had been done to the most painful capacity possible. There was little permanent damage done overall, but so so much pain. Nerves had been twisted, fingernails had been pulled, open and weeping burn scars littered his body, and his tail…

_Oh Dean…_

His slender forked tail had been split directly down the middle. The tip been chopped off completely and tiny demonic warding symbols had been etched into what remained. What the symbols meant and what they were doing to Dean, Castiel did not know.

“Take him down.”

Castiel watched dazed as two demon guards released Dean’s wrist cuffs from the chains overhead, gravity pulling his limp body quickly to the floor. Cas dove, catching Dean right before his body hit the ground.

Carefully, Cas cradled the demon close to him, allowing his wings to gently cover over the young man’s body in a show of protection. He held Dean tight to his body, ignoring the laughter and jeering of the other demons that spat on them and grinned with malice.

“An angel caring for a demon…” John offered Cas a sharp kick to his damaged wing, “And you call _us_ the abominations.”

Groaning from the kick, Cas flinched, biting down a yelp. As he glanced down, he saw Dean’s eyes begin to flicker. His long lashes fluttering against the drips of consciousness.

“Dean? Dean wake up for me. Please. Dean, open your eyes.”

\------------------

Everyone says it’s like floating, being unconscious. That it’s like drifting in the gentle lap of an ocean’s calm waves. Soothing. Dark. Comfortable and absolutely not a space that you would want to leave. Especially if you have nothing but pain to wake up to. Just oblivion and quiet.

Well. As an expert in the art of being unconscious, Dean would be the first to refute this analogy.

Unconsciousness wasn’t calm, it was terrifying. The small slip of space between total black out and being awake felt like being thrown about inside a thunderstorm. Lighting striking through his skin, flashes blindingly behind his eyelids.

He felt paralyzed, couldn’t move, his body static while the mind went into overdrive.

“-up for me. Please-“

Oh, that was beautiful. That voice that was piercing through the thunder. Bits and pieces floating through the torrential downpour that was drowning his mind. He felt like his lungs were starving for air, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe-

“-ean. Wake up for me. Open your eyes-“

Open his eyes? Maybe that would help him breathe. Help him move.

“Please Dean. I don’t want them to drag y-“

Drag him? Where was he going?

Even though the calm part of being beaten into unconsciousness was false, the whole ‘go towards the light’ part was actually accurate. He could see a fuzzy luminescence coming from beyond the storm clouds. But the closer he got the more painful the lighting strikes became. The harder it was to breathe.

_Just a little closer._

“Dean. Please, my beautiful Dean, open your-“

The voice was getting louder. He must be getting closer to waking up. He could start to feel a grounding tingling sensation in his fingers and his toes. Then his head began to pound, harder and louder. A strong drum that was drowning out the thunder.

“Please…”

Dean opened his eyes to a dim room.

Everything ached. Everything _hurt._ Sharp pains, dull pains. His brain was so noisy with stimulation that he almost went back under from the shear weight of it. But before he could close his eyes again, there was a light gasp, and someone gently cupped his cheek.

“Dean?” A thumb brushed against the scruff on his cheek, “Thank god you are awake.”

He squinted slightly, forcing his eyes to come into focus against the dim lighting. Blinking lazily, his sight slowly tracked onto the face peering down at him. Concerned blue eyes, crystal dark blue eyes, pierced with worry and frayed at the edges.

He felt rough fingertips trace his jawline, directing his face upward into those eyes. He blinked again slowly, the waves of exhaustion and pain washing over him. He just wanted to lay there. To not think, to not process anything. Just to float away on calm waters like he wanted.

He felt… broken. Like he had surrendered to the enemy and now he lay dying amongst the bodies of his greatest soldiers. Mission abandoned, heartbroken. He blinked.

“Dean, can you hear me?”

That voice…

_Cas._

But that wasn’t right. Cas was dead. Cas had been killed because…because…

Dean coughed, something metallic dripping from his lips. Cas was dead. That’s why he had surrendered, why he had given up. Something about his father saying…. Dean couldn’t remember. But Cas was dead. Dean had felt his own heart shatter in confirmation. Felt the fight drain out of him completely at the reality of fighting alone.

Cas was _dead._

A tear trailed down Dean’s cheek.

“Oh, Dean.”

The demon looked up again, eyes finally focusing, finally identifying. “Cas?”

The angel smiled sadly, his dark hair a mess of stress and anxiety, sticking out in all directions. “I’m here Dean, I’m here my love.” He whispered quietly. Cas glanced up for a moment, making eye contact with someone else in the room before looking back down at Dean remorsefully, “We need to go Dean. Please Sweetheart, I’ll help you stand up, but we need to move now before they start dragging you out and hurting you even more.” There was a note of bitterness in the angel’s voice and Dean desperately hoped that it wasn’t directed at him.

“Mmkay.”

He felt compliant, as if it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. Although, he did hope dream Cas would stop looking so worried. Maybe if he moved that would help.

He felt strong arms underneath him, supporting him. Then there was an elevation change, some voices, staggering forward, it was all fuzzy and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. What did it matter? Cas was dead. And dream Cas would leave him soon too. Because that was just the life of Dean Winchester.

Another tear slipped silently down his cheek.

\----------------------------------------------------

Cas glanced down at the unresponsive demon in his arms, fear churning in his gut.

Dean was… vacant.

They were being transported to Hell’s border, the high ashen mountain range looming near, but even though they have been on the road for hours, Dean hadn’t spoken since the chamber. It was starting to scare Cas.

The young man simply stared off into the distance, barely making eye contact with anyone. Cas was fairly certain that Dean could hear him, he was just completely detached mentally. He went through the motions needed, weak and shaky as they may be. He had stumbled his way to the transport vehicle, face paling from blood loss, but still made no sound.

“Alright, you little maggot, you ready to perform soon?”

John squatted down in front of Dean, the vehicle’s motion causing him to sway accordingly. Cas felt a growl building in his throat as the man leered down at Dean. But the green-eyed demon simply blinked quietly for a moment before nodding slowly, eyes sliding down and to the side as he leaned back against Cas’ chest, the angel tightening his grip around Dean’s waist.

John chuckled and shook his head mockingly. “What a weak pathetic thing you are.” He leaned forward, shifting to the balls of his feet, black eyes glinting in the fluorescent lighting, “Hah! One mention of a dead angel and you break like a twig. Who knew it could be so easy?” His laughter roared as he threw his head back.

Eyes widening in horror, Cas looked from Dean to John back to Dean, eyes bouncing back and forth in alarm. “What are you talking about?” Cas snapped, voice lowering to a hiss.

John smirks, “What do you think? I told the little worm you died.” John just laughs again as the angel’s face twisted in terror.

“I’m the reason he-“ his voice broke off, eyes stuck on Dean’s absent expression. “But I’m right here!” The angel cried out.

John’s lips twisted in pleasure as he stood and walked to the other side of the vehicle, “Are you though?”

Cas watched him for a moment, panic settling into his bones. Dean thought he was dead? That’s why Dean broke? Because of him? “Dean I’m right here, I’m not dead!” He shook Dean’s slight shoulders jerkily trying to pull out some semblance of recognition, of awareness, of _something._

“I’m not dead, please, Dean look at me!”

By some miracle a small flicker passed over Dean’s face. He looked up slowly from his seated position in Cas’ lap, eyes drifting for a moment before they land on Cas’ face. He pauses for a second, studying Cas sluggishly, before ducking his head to nuzzle into Cas’ chest softly.

“ ‘s not real.”

Cas choked on sob that was building in his throat. The sight of such a beautiful soul to be broken so completely that it was convinced that everyone would eventually leave him… it was heartbreaking.

Clutching Dean close to his body, wings circling in for warmth, Cas held on tightly to the demon. He lowered his head to kiss the tops of Dean’s hair, eyes fluttering closed in sorrow. “I will never leave you Dean. I swear to you, I am right here.”

\------------------------------------

About an hour later they arrived at the base of the mountain range.

Sharp black boulders jutted out from the ground with jagged edges leering towards them in a menacing silence. The borders of Hell didn’t really keep anything out, in the sense that there wasn’t supposed to be anything on the other side of the mountain range. Well, sort of.

If the rumors were true, however, somehow there was a tunnel or passageway that led from Hell straight to Purgatory. Not literal neighbors, exactly. Just, connected, in a way.

Cas swallowed thickly, his hand gripping tightly to Dean’s shoulder like a lifeline. He hoped Gabriel’s plan would still work. That his big brother would be able to find them in that god-forsaken place before it was too late.

He looked at Dean.

If it wasn’t too late already.

John herded them up to the rows of broken rock, apparently close to where Dean had told them the entrance would be located. John grabbed Dean by the scruff of his neck and shoved him forward in front of the group, ignoring Cas’ shout. When Dean stumbled for a moment, John jerked his shirt collar to stabilize him roughly. “Alright _boy_.” John hissed in his ear, “Where do we start?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder to look at Cas, sorrow dripping from his eyes in the form of hot tears. His voice was rough, jagged like the rocks, but yet so unbelievably soft and quiet, “Please don’t be disappointed in me Cas. Even if you are just hallucination because I’m too weak to accept reality as it is… just, don’t watch this next part. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Okay, just trust me on this one guys, I did promise a happy ending after all. Maybe. Don't hate me :)
> 
> Only a couple more chapters left!
> 
> Please comment below what you thought! I love reading everyone's comments!


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